


A Crown of Gold

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Weddings, duty first, it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: The First Knight should not fall in love with the Queen...yet sometimes it still happens. What then?Many thanks to sweettasteofbitter for the beta.
Relationships: Ser Cauthrien/Anora Mac Tir
Comments: 11
Kudos: 15
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	A Crown of Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



She was sixteen, and she’d just seen the most beautiful woman she could imagine. Said glory had a crown of golden hair and eyes as bright as the sky in the autumns of Gwaren, crisp and clear. Her laughter was just as wonderful - and that was the problem.

“Ren, wake up!”

Cauthrien shook herself and nodded back at her training partner. A crown of gold was all too accurate a metaphor - everyone knew it. She knew about crushes, and this crush, too, would pass. She traded blows with Willem until he was panting, beating him into the ground with far less care than she usually would have. With every blow, she imagined herself in a duel for the hand of...no, not against the equally golden man who turned from watching their bout to the Lady of Gwaren. No, the blows were against the Orlesians that had threatened their land until the Teyrn’s military genius was enough to turn the tide.

_ That  _ was why she’d come to Gwaren. The Teyrn was looking for new soldiers, and who  _ wouldn’t  _ want to serve the Hero of River Dane? She could imagine no greater honor  _ than to kiss those blushing lips and see if they tasted...  _ No greater honor than to serve the savior of their land, strong right hand of the King!

Cauthrien had stopped at nothing before. Her parents, veterans themselves, indulged Cauthrien’s hero-worship with war-tales of Loghain’s clever wit and dry, demanding way of speech.

No vision of beauty, no future queen, would distract her from her goal. She had always been practical. Cauthrien knew better than to toss everything away for the unattainable.

_ Besides, I might be able to see her again. _

**

She was twenty, and laughed up at her sparring partner from where she’d landed in the dirt. “I yield! I yield, mercy!” The teasing exclamation matched her father’s newest knight’s eyes, dancing the same sapphire as Anora had seen on the paintings outside her Palace suite. “I’m impressed, Ser Knight!”

Her partner returned the grin with something lopsided enough to make her heart thump unpleasantly in her chest. “You never know what you’ll face out there, milady.”

“Call me Anora. Please,” she said, impulsive despite her years of court training. This was not in front of the bannorn, but one of her father’s own knights. “Please? I don’t have many friends.” Not that she  _ wanted  _ just friendship, but she loved Cailan, loved her country, and loved her duty. Friendship would be enough.

The woman scraped sweat-soaked hair back from her eyes, forcing it to join the cinnamon mane she kept well-tied back. “If you’re Anora, then I’m Ren.”

“Ren?”

Anora kept hold of Ser Cauthrien’s forearm, even though she was standing again. It was just a moment of bonding. Cauthrien blushed. “Look, it’s better than Cauthy.”

“Oh, Andraste, I’d say so!”

They laughed again, and Anora was certain it would be enough. Ser Cauthrien was one of her father’s knights, someone who had proven herself in only five short years as a cunning, ambitious perfectionist. The fact she had the honest, open fearlessness that was the heart of their country was only one more thing to admire. It was something more rare than the way the sunlight danced across her freckles or motes of dust caught in her eyelashes.  _ Though the latter wouldn’t matter if not for the former - Cailan also has lovely eyelashes and freckles - even a nice smile.  _

Thinking of her fiance’s name was enough to remind her of her duty. She liked him. She loved him, even. She always had. How not, when he was so much like his father, and she so much like her own? They were close. But  _ this,  _ the way her nerves reached out for the slightest touch, the way she could recognize the twinkle in the other woman’s eye….

Anora took a shuddering breath and let go, stepping back.

“Again?”

“What,” Cauthrien teased, her own skin flushed from their workout, “do you plan on fighting a giant?”

Anora shook her head. “Of course not! Though it never hurts to be prepared.”

It also wouldn’t hurt to get just a little more time with her father’s most promising knight. Another round would give her an excuse to sweat, to have flushed cheeks - to need time to herself, and a cool bath.

**

She was twenty-three when the woman she loved - for it was love - from afar stood radiant in ivory and gold next to her king and swore vows to him and Andraste. She watched from her place immediately behind and to Loghain’s left, the shield he could not wear for a wedding, and pasted on the ‘I’m formal but happy’ look he’d taught her over her years in his service.  _ ‘It’s not lying, Cauthrien - it’s a survival tactic when dealing with nobility. You need to learn it. Maker knows I needed to.’ _

Seven years, and while she’d had lovers, Cauthrien had  _ never  _ felt what she did for the woman she now knelt to as the Grand Cleric placed a golden crown on golden locks. Fereldan’s skies shone in her eyes as Anora accepted the fealty of the Bannorn and gathered knights. If she felt her new Princess’ eyes lingered longer on her than the others, Cauthrien knew it was nothing but her imagination, a yearning that transferred a daughter’s love for her father to that of lovers separated by duty.

She  _ would  _ be faithful. She  _ would  _ serve. She  _ would  _ be happy.

_ Especially if that service meant she could see her love shine in court as she did on the training field. _

“Don’t get drunk at the feast, but enjoy yourself. You’re dismissed, Cauthrien.”

She nodded briskly at her liege-lord. “Of course not, Ser.” For Anora’s sake as well as her own, she wouldn’t get drunk.

**

She was twenty-nine, and the lips that found hers were salty-sweet with tears. For a moment, the lack of stubble under searching fingertips shocked her. Then she remembered.

_ My husband and king is dead. _

Anora knew she should hate her father - hate the woman who clung to her as desperately as she clung. Whose tears did she drink? It didn’t matter. Here and now, nothing mattered except the unmasking of feelings long held at bay by both of them.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Nor...”

The ragged whisper made Anora pull back. “I should have trusted you, but when you looked at me like you didn’t know me…”

“I couldn’t not! It was Howe’s men behind me, Anora.”

She melted as she heard the way that voice, so often crisp and formal, caressed it like the newest pup of the litter. “Say it again.”

“Again? I’m so sorry. I love you, and I’m sorry, and I hate that I’m glad that we’re…”

Anora kissed Cauthrien again. Anything to stop the rest, to stop the world of politics and steel outside her door from creeping in for this precious stolen time. Desire barricaded behind duty surged forward, breaching walls fourteen years strong.

Tomorrow, she could be Queen. Tomorrow, Ren would need to be her father’s most trusted Knight.

But now? For the first time since they’d met, they could fan the flames and let passion take over.


End file.
